Delicate
by movienerd1174
Summary: Peter and Lara Jean attempt to golden girls and chill while Dr. Covey works an overnight shift...
1. Chapter 1

**This story is pretty self explanatory the only thing I would like to touch on is that this is primarily based more on the movie than the book. Other than that, ENJOY! **

_Long nights with your hands up in my hair..._

The stock boy at this grocery store is a sadist. No matter what I need, whether it's deodorant or Kitty's favorite pop tarts, it's always on the top shelf. My black converse squeak against the scuffed tile floor as I try to expand my 5'1" frame as much as my tip toes will allow. Having a movie night without popcorn is not an option.

I feel a familiar presence behind me and I see a large hand reach above me and grab the box of pop secret with ease. "Didn't I tell you this stock boy lives to make my life hell?" I huff, turning around to see Peter's teasing eyes twinkling in the fluorescent lighting. That's right, Peter Kavinsky's eyes twinkle. I've spent the past 6 weeks for our "relationship" pretending that the golden flecks in his eyes didn't make my stomach flip but, alas, they do.

"You've got a lot of things going for you, Covey." He quips, skillfully tossing the box in the air before catching it behind his back as we walk towards the check out line. "Height is not one of them." I shake my head. Is there anything he isn't good at?

Once we're in line at the self check out Peter's eyes narrow as he looks down at me. I feel insecurity prickle along the back of my neck before he brings a hand up to remove a strand of hair that escaped my messy bun and stuck itself to my eyelashes.

"Better." He rasps lowly, his lips spreading in a closed mouth smile that threatens to turn my knees into jello.

Goosebumps break out along my entire body. "Why is it always so cold in here?" I deflect and pull the sleeves of my hoodie over my chilly hands. When I say "my hoodie" I really mean Peter's Lacrosse hoodie that I adopted a couple of weeks ago. It's huge on me, reaching my mid thigh and almost completely hiding the running shorts I have on.

Who says a girl can't benefit from her fake boyfriend?

"That's what happens when you wear shorts in November." He chuckle with a light shake of his head. His giant hand slides over my shoulder and along my shoulder blade as he pulls me against him. "C'mere" he mumbles as he tucks me underneath his arm.

His scent engulfs me and I can't help but close my eyes and breathe him in. My inherited hoodie still holds faints traces of him but nothing compares to the real thing pressed up against my nostrils.

He doesn't smell like cheap body spray like other teenage boys. No, Peter is subtle. Soap, deodorant, sweat. Uniquely him.

As if they had a mind of their own, my treacherous arms wrap themselves around him and link at the small of his back. His hand cups the back of my head and he presses a kiss to my temple like it is like the most normal thing in the world.

My eyes shoot open.

Why are we doing this? There is no Josh to ward off, there is no Gen to make jealous. We know no one around us and no one knows us. Why keep up the act? If I'm being honest with myself the line that separates our fake relationship and our real one had started to blur more and more recently.

I remove myself from his grasp, avoiding what I know would be his disappointed gaze and turn my attention to the check out machine.

It's official... Kitty can not hang. When Dad told us he was working the overnight shift, she was so hyped up for Peter to come over so she could open his eyes to the beauty of Golden girls.

Three episodes and less than an hour and a half later, she is out like a light. I can't help but snicker at her askew glasses and the way her mouth is hanging open. As I take her glasses off for safe keeping, Peter rises from the couch and wastes no time in scooping her up. He stops in front of me on the couch and chuckled. "Is that genetic?" He asked, nodding towards me.

It takes me a minute to realize that my mouth is hanging open just like Kitty's was.

My hands mindlessly scrubs the buttery film from popcorn bowl as I let my mind wander to Peter. The way his strong arms lifted Kitty like she weighed no more than a rag doll, the way the corner of his lips lifted when she snuggled into his chest.

Get a grip, Lara Jean! He is your fake boyfriend, emphasis on the word fake.

Before I could berate myself for being jealous of my 11 year old sister, Peter appears next to me. He pushes up the sleeves to his long sleeve lacrosse t shirt and takes the wet bowl from my hands.

I watch intently as he dries the bowl, his eyebrows pulling together and his thick forearms flexing as he moves the dish towel of over the glass.

Everyone at school knows Peter for his athleticism and his charm but after all the time we've spent together these past months, I've learned he exceeds all of that. Peter Kavinsky is all heart.

Looking up at me from under his thick lashes, his mouth quirks into a smirk. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you have the hots for me, Lara Jean." He had caught me staring. I should be embarrassed but I'm not.

Bracing my hands against the island, I pull myself up to sit on the counter as Peter watches me with keen eyes. I reach out a hand to his shoulder and pull him to stand in front of me.

He places his hands on the counter on either side of me, so close that I could feel the heat radiating against my thighs. I avoid his concerned gaze and focus on picking the invisible lint on his shoulder.

"What is it?" He rasps.

Peter stands in front of me, his stomach pressing against my knees. I could feel his body heat seep through the thin cotton on his shirt and warm the bare skin of my legs. "I just want you to know that you're not just my fake boyfriend. You're basically my best friend."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, my heart pounds in my chest. The heat of embarrassment flood my cheeks and I hang my head to avoid his reaction.

Time seems to screech to a halt and a silence falls over us. "Look at me, Covey." His voice sounds so loud but in reality it is just above a whisper.

Reluctantly I look up at him and instantly my worries evaporate. His eyes are as warm as I've ever seen them. Even warmer than they are when he looks at Kitty or talks about his mom.

And his lips. They pulled up into a bright smile, causing the little scar beside his mouth to crinkle. I love that scar. "You're my best friend too, Lara Jean." He could've just said it to say it back but I can tell he means it.

Something swells in my chest, an unfamiliar feeling. Yes, I have had crushes before but this is different. Borderline overwhelming.

I feel as if my heart was about to burst so I do the only thing I can in the moment and I pull Peter into a hug. My arms wrap around his upper back, a slight panic rising inside of me when he doesn't react right away.

Just as I am thinking about pulling away, I feel his hands circle my lower back and his chest deflate as he releases a sigh into my neck. Goosebumps break out across my skin and a shiver shakes my body.

He pulls back with the smallest chuckle, his perfect lips lifting in a smirk. He felt that. Peter Kavinsky felt me practically trembling in his arms.

His eyes drop to my neck and despite the large hoodie I'm wearing I feel naked in front of him. I start to feel self conscious under his gaze and yank the collar of my sweatshirt up in an attempt to cover my neck. "My neck is super sensitive." I can feel the heat pulsing in my cheeks.

The look on Peter's face is something I've never seen before. His eyelids are heavy and there is something in his eyes that I can't quite place.

He clears his throat and looks away when he realizes he had been staring. I don't know why he looked at me like that but I wish he would do it again. Is this what Gen felt like every time he looked at her? Explains the bottomless vat of self confidence.

His scratchy voice breaks through my thoughts. "Are you sure you and Kitty are okay by yourselves while your dad is at work? I don't mind staying."

"I think we'll be okay." I say, giving him a sweet, closed lip smile. I hope he can see through me because I do want him to stay.

Peter is standing between my knees, his warm body a contrast to the cool countertop chilling the back of my knees. If I scoot just a couple inches forward our bodies would be completely flush against each other and I find that... _intimate_. "It's late, I'll get going." He says and he tilts his head to the side and presses his lips against mine.

A couple of weeks into our agreement, we made an amendment to our contract to include chaste kisses in situations where it was necessary. Situations like lacrosse parties and when Josh sees him drop me off.

Being alone in a darkened kitchen was not one of those situations. But here we are, his warm lips against mine. He pulls away with a quick intake of breath. I miss the sweet suction as soon his mouth leaves mine.

"Sorry, habit." He smirks but I can tell he feels bad. He starts to move away but there is a strange building feeling in the pit of my stomach and I reach out and grab his muscular forearm.

My hands move up his strong arms and his large palms cup my elbows. I watch as his face moves close, my eyes practically crossing as his nose brushes mine.

Every kiss we've had up until this point has been professional, quick and chaste. We've never done this and the anticipation between us is electric.

His lips finally find mine and my breath catches in my throat. His fingers whisper up my arms and cup the sides of my neck. His warmth surrounds me and I feel like I can just melt into him.

I've never felt anything like this before. This gravitational pull towards Peter was stronger than anything I've experienced. Suddenly I regret judging Margot when I found out she and Josh had had sex. I consider myself a very rational person but right now, in this moment I would do anything that Peter asked of me.

His lips suck at my bottom one as my fingers thread through the thick hair at the back of his head. I feel his fingertips whisper against the skin of my calves and I have to stop myself from wrapping my legs around his waist. But I do scoot closer to the edge of the counter so our stomachs are pressed together and in the process knocking a spoon off the counter.

The sound of the metal clanging against the floor brings me back reality. We are in my kitchen, out in the open. Kitty can come down at any minute!

Fisting the collar of Peter's t-shirt in both hands, I tear my lips away from his. "Peter", I breathe but I'm interrupted by his mouth slanting open over mine. His tongue slides along mine and whatever thought I had quickly dissipates.

It isn't sloppy and clumsy like the other French kisses I've had. Peter is a pro. My tongue submits to his, wet heat against wet heat. My stomach clenches and suddenly I need to be closer.

A brazen courage washes over me and I lock my arms around his neck. The action causing me to lift off of the counter and against his body. I have to say, I'm impressed at what my scrawny little arms are capable of.

My chest is tight and I'm afraid that I've forgotten how to breathe. My fears are confirmed when his hands slide along the back of my thighs. His hands bear my weight with such ease and I don't think I've ever felt safer.

I'm so focused on his lips against mine that it takes me a moment to realize that Peter's carrying me into the living room. He falls onto the couch and I land in his lap. We're lost in a fit of giggles, our faces only inches apart.

I know I may be biased but Peter Kavinsky is by far the most handsome being I've ever seen. Especially like this. Eyes crinkling when he laughs, his perfect lips stretched into a smile.

My laughter subsides and my fingers find their way into his thick waves. I'm staring at him, I can't help it and he notices. His chuckles come to slow rolling stop, his chest heaving as his breathing regulates.

My fingernails absentmindedly scrape against his scalp and I have to stop myself from chuckling as his eyes droop contently. This might be the most perfect moment of my life. His hands are slowly stroking along my thighs and I wonder if he can feel the goosebumps following in their tracks.

"Every girl at school would do anything to switch places with me right now." I muse, watching the the silky strands of his hair slip through my fingers.

His blearly eyes focus on mine and his eyebrows pull together in the slightest. Are eyebrows an odd choice for a favorite feature? Because his are definitely my favorite. They had some stiff competition but they won out in the end.

"There is no one I would rather be here with." He admits lowly, his voice even more scratchy than normal.

My fingers pause against his scalp. No one? Really? Not even Gen? I'm tempted to ask but something inside me stops me.

I can feel my cheeks warm and by the smirk plastered on Peter's face, I know I must be blushing.

The way he's looking at me warms my entire body. I don't know what to do so I do the only thing I keep thinking about.

I kiss him.

The faint stubble on his cheeks tickles my palms. He may be seventeen but he's definitely more man than boy. Does Peter see me as a girl or a woman? I definitely don't feel like a little girl when I'm with him.

As if to prove my point, I arch my back so my entire torso is pressed along the length of his. A groan escapes his parted mouth as his tongue licks at my bottom lip. I think it's my new favorite sound.

I've read and daydreamed about moments like these but never under these circumstances. It was usually a meadow not my living room and I tended to imagine a prince or a stable boy but now it's Peter.

I am straddling Peter Kavinsky's lap, his hands slipping under the hem of my spacious hoodie. He is consuming me, all of me. I've never felt this before. I feel wanted. Needed.

My hands tangle in his hair and I have to admit I'm addicted to the little sounds he makes when I tug on the thick strands.

His lips are wet and hot and burn a path from my mouth, across my cheek and down my neck as far an my sweatshirt will allow.

I'm in sensory overload. He invades my mouth, my nose, my ears and my mind. I can't get enough of him.

The feeling of his soft mouth sucking and licking my neck is almost enough to make me lose myself. My hips roll against his and his hands that are roaming under my tank top dig into the flesh just above my ass.

Peter holds me against him and I feel all of him. His lips at my neck, his hands at my back and him hard against where my body is aching for him.

I pull back and struggle to catch my breath. He looks up at me with those eyes. Bright yet sedated and twinkling with something that I never want to live without. I can barely plan my next move because the feeling of his hands rubbing soothing circles into my skin is making it hard to think.

Before I know what I'm doing, I raise both arms above my head. At first he looks confused and then he smiles at me. A smile so wide I can practically count all of his perfect teeth.

He lifts the sweatshirt over my head, leaving me in only a tank top and running shorts. I would feel awkward and exposed if it wasn't for the way his eyes are drinking me in.

With one of his arms still secured around my waist, he brings the other hand up to my sternum and his nimble fingers trace along my collarbone. The tenderness that his fingers possess make my insides tremble. I watch him as he watches his fingers and all I want to do is memorize every detail of his perfect face.

Too bad my brain short circuits before that can happen. Because Peter freaking Kavinsky leans forward so his mouth is against my chest. I shiver in his lap as his parted lips trace the path his fingers took.

"Are you mine, Lara Jean?" He breathes, so faintly I don't think I hear him so much as I feel the words against the edge of my tank top.

I feel myself coming undone; heart, body and mind. I hug his head to my chest and whisper "I'm yours" into his thick hair.

Peter pulls down the neckline of my tank down and his mouth is attracted to my chest like a magnet. His lips fasten to my skin, the scruff under his bottom lip brushes my nipple and it puckers in response.

My lungs are burning and it takes me a beat to realize it is because I'm not breathing. I force myself to take a deep breath, heaving my chest against Peter. My body is trembling from the suction of his lips but when I feel the sting of his teeth my hips involuntarily thrust against his.

He groans against my skin then releases it with a pop. He admires his masterpiece as his bright teeth dig into his swollen bottom lip. His fingers seek out the purplish blotch created by his mouth and brush my nipple in the process. The corner of his lips twitches when it stiffens into a hard peak and I know he did it on purpose.

Rational thought has no place in my head right now. I'm about three seconds away from ripping off my pants and telling Peter to put a baby inside of me. I won't do that... well, at least not all of it.

I find the hem of his long sleeve tee between our bodies and he smirks at me. That smirk I love, the smirk I've loved since the seventh grade. A smirk that is equal parts dorky and sexy. He lifts his arms above his head like a little boy who is ready to put on his pajamas.

We both chuckle as I work the material up his body. I'm undressing a boy for the first time. I always thought I would be a nervous wreck, shaking hands and all that. But I'm not. Not with Peter. He makes everything easy.

"You're hair is outta control." I shake my head as my laugh subsides and I attempt to tame his locks with my fingers.

He brings up his hand to tease my messy bun. "Speaking of hair", he rasps, a finger hooking in the hair tie and letting my mane cascade down my shoulders. I know the messy bun caused my hair to be uncharacteristically kinked and Peter's eyes are shining as he takes it in for the first time.

This is so intimate it makes my stomach clench. We are both practically naked. Hot skin against hot skin and only paper thin cotton covering our most eager areas.

My lips twitch and my tongue is begging me to let the words out. To let him know that the feelings that have been simmering for the last couple weeks are not a full on roaring boil. Do I love Peter Kavinsky? I can't... can I?

Nothing could ruin this moment, not even the declaration of love bubbling up my throat so I do the only thing I can think of.

I kiss his neck.

I kiss, suck and lick his neck and Peter makes a sound like some wild animal. Both of his hands tangle in my unruly hair, the feeling of his fingers against my scalp making my lips falter briefly against his skin.

This is something straight out of one of my books. Books that are now ruined because no words on a page can ever compare the slow urgency of Peter's fingers in my hair.

I release his skin with a few gentle pecks, placing my open lips against the faint pink mark as I exhale slowly. My hot breath fanning out against his wet skin.

Goosebumps spread across his neck like cracks in a thawing lake. I straighten in his lap and bring my hands to his cheeks. They're pink and warm against my palms.

Every time my brain tries to wrap around just how attractive he is it tends to short circuit. Like it is now.

So I do the only thing I can think to do. I press my mouth to his parted lips.

When I pull back, he brushes his thumb along my bottom lip as he purses his own. "Those lips are dangerous, Lara Jean."

A rush of confidence swells inside of me and I do something that even shocks myself. I take _those lips_

and wrap them around his thumb.

Peter's eyes widened before rolling back into his head completely, a deep groan escaped from his throat and I swear I feel him twitch between my legs.That excites me.

I want to have sex with Peter.

Maybe not right _now. But it's definitely going to be all I think about until it happens. _

In the meantime, I just want Peter. I grab his pinky and drag his hand lower, his wet thumb leaving a glistening trail in its wake.

"I'm not ready to have sex with you yet." I state boldly, my voice rougher than normal.

He blinks a couple times like his brain is misfiring. "O-okay", He rasps. "I wasn't..."

I cut him off with a kiss. "I know you weren't. I'm not ready to have sex but I do need to feel you." I explain slowly, bringing his hands between my legs where I sit in his lap.

I'm seriously considering throwing all this books away because nothing can compare to the way Peter's eyes go bright and my words. And I completely transcend into another dimension when his fingers slip beneath my shorts.

**I hope you liked it! I may continue... haven't decided yet. **


	2. Chapter 2

**THE SECOND CHAPTER IS FINALLY HERE! Sorry for the delay, friends, this just kept going on and on... you have about 7.5k words to delve into with this one. As I said before, this is the first first-person story I've ever written and I kind of love it. I hope you enjoy! **

_Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs..._

My eyes shoot open at what sounded like the sound of car door slamming, followed by a quick beep of a key fob.

_Peter._

Rolling onto my side on my plush bed, I grab my phone from my side table and the screen practically blinds me in my dim bedroom. Due to his rotating schedule, Dad has to work an overnight shift at the hospital every six weeks which leaves me and Kitty home alone. He doesn't know Peter usually sleeps over those nights and a pang of guilt stings in my chest as I open Peter's texts.

_11:06_

_coach just let us out. murph gave him lip and he made us run double suicides. gonna jump in the shower and ill be there._

_11:21_

_leaving school now. cant wait to squeeze u._

_11:43_

_u asleep covey? stay in bed, ill use the spare key._

The sound of the front door creaking shut downstairs and the dead bolt lock floated up the stairs from the foyer, I throw myself back against the stack of plush pillows behind me as I wait. Lifting my fluffy duvet, I look to see what I fell asleep in. A mint green loose knit cowl neck sweater, a bralette and cotton boy shorts underneath. Pretty standard for the middle of December. A smirk lifts the corner of my lips knowing Peter will enjoy my attire.

Nothing had really changed between us, other than the fact that now we also explore the physical side of our relationship. And since that was the only thing missing from our faux relationship before, I guess that makes us an actual couple now. We hadn't actually discussed it, I feel like our bubble might pop if we do. This is too perfect, he is too perfect.

Opening up my front facing camera, the glow cast from the string lights that are wrapped around my wrought iron headboard allows me to assess my appearance. The two french braids Kitty gave me after my shower seemed to have held up nicely and my skin is fresh and exfoliated after my shower. Peter's favorite, he isn't shallow like everyone thinks. He always tells me how beautiful I am in sweats, a messy bun with not a stitch of make up. My heart picks up when I hear his footsteps ascending the stairs, my hands clutching my covers to my chest.

When he reaches the landing, he doesn't come straight to my room but passes it to check on Kitty. A habit he does every time he sleeps over. He told me does it because it's what my dad would do and my heart expolded. Quite literally, and it's been bursting ever since.

Finally my door creaks open and he pops his head before opening the door completely. "Hey sleepyhead", he rasps as he drops his bag at the foot of my bed. "Thought you were down for the count."

Stretching both my arms above my head, I make a sound that Peter always says reminds him of a sleepy kitten. "Woke up just in time." I know I'm blinking up at him like a love drunk idiot. But that is the effect Peter has on me. He turns me to goo with his warm eyes then puts me back together with his strong hands. I watch with sleep blurred eyes as he makes his way to sit down on the edge of my bed, bracing his hand on the opposite side of my body so my I was a willing prisoner in his muscular arms.

Peter leans forward, the scent of his soap washing over me in delicious waves as he presses his warm lips to my face. My hands seek out his hair, the thick strands still damp from his post practice shower. I let out a whine when he pulls away to bend over and remove his shoes, tossing a smirk over his shoulder as he does. I'm needy and he loves it.

Sitting up in bed, I scoot closer and press my body against his. My short arms snake around his lean torso and hug him firmly, the action causes him to stiffen and inhale sharply through his nose. My heart drops. I quickly retreat, holding my hands up. "What did I do?" I ask, panic giving my voice a slight edge.

The labored way he turns his body towards mine tells me that he's in pain. "My back is sore from the hit I took in Saturday's game."

"Why didn't you say anything?" I can feel my eyebrows knit together in concern and my fingers gently slip under the hem of his long sleeve tee, careful not to apply any pressure to the tender muscle.

Shrugging, his eyes feel closed at the feeling of my soft fingertips ghosting over his skin. "We haven't seen each other in four days, I didn't want to ruin it." He counts the days, so do I. The tips of his calloused fingers smoothing the tension away from my pinched brows. The sweet gesture makes me pause before my brain kicks back in.

Throwing the covers off me, I tiptoe over to my desk and open up the drawer that houses all my make up, taking out the container of coconut oil. "Take off your shirt and lay on your stomach." I instruct. My back is to him but I can feel his eyes on my bare legs. I would say Peter is a leg guy but to tell you the truth, he is an _everything _guy. Or as he would say, he is a Lara Jean guy.

A small chuckle rises in my throat when I turn around and see my hunch is correct. His intense eyes are trained on me as I approach the bed. He looks up at me as I stop in front of him and put the coconut oil on my nightstand.

Stepping in between his legs, I push his brown waves back from his forehead as he presses his face into my stomach. His large hands circle the back of my knees and his breath puffs against the skin of my stomach through the loose knit of my sweater. A shudder ran through my body. I know he felt it because now he's looking up at me, a smirk planted on his face and his chin resting against my stomach.

"I missed you, Lara Jean." He murmurs, his soft palms sweeping the back of my thighs. I hug his head to my body, silently returning his sentiment. Butterflies are running rampant in my stomach and hormones rushing through my veins. It's what he does to me. And any other night I would give into his touch but he is in pain.

Leaning forward, I kiss his forehead as my hand scratches the hair at the back of his neck. "Lay down", I whisper, my lips moving against his forehead. He smiles, it's small and his lips are closed but the warmth radiates from his honey eyes.

Reaching behind him, he grabs his shirt by the back and pulls it over his head. Normally when he did that he looked like a hero is one of my romance novels but now, he looks pained and my heart aches. His shirt drops to the floor and I can't help the giggle that bubbles up my throat.

Peter is known for his hair, those brown waves, that thick mane. And now he was looking up at me with it sticking every which way and I can't help but laugh. "It has a mind of its own", he defends weakly with a laugh. He brings a hand up to fix it but I stop him and place said hand around my waist.

I may have spoke prematurely when I said that Peter's eyebrows were my favorite thing about him. They are great, thick and expressive. But _his hair. _Don't get me wrong, I have always appreciated it but looking at is one thing. Grabbing it while he kissed my neck, scratching my nails through it as he falls asleep with his head on my lap, twirling the waves at the back of his head through my fingers while he drove... those are _completely _different.

My fingers thread through the silky strands, taming the soft waves as his hand whispers along the hem of my sweater. I know myself and I know that I get _very _easily distracted by his hands. So when I finish with his hair, I step back and open up the coconut oil. His eyebrow quirks curiously and I roll my eyes.

It's not a rare occasion that I grab coconut oil. I usually use it as my make up remover but I know Peter is thinking of the very few times I slathered it on my legs when they were extremely dry. Remember that thing I said about him being a leg guy?

"Don't get too excited", I quip, standing front of him again. Despite my words, he's still looking up at me with expecting eyes. Sorry Kavinsky. "It's for your back. Lay down."

I watch as he lays down on my bed, on his stomach, clad in only ankle socks and basketball shorts. He's smack dab in the middle of my full size bed and his long body makes it look tiny.

Planting a knee on the bed, I swing the other one over his body so I am straddling his butt. He lets a little grunt and I'm sure it's more due to the pressure between our lower halves and not my weight. Peter could lift me up with one arm if he wanted to and always pull me on top of him any chance he gets, like a human throw blanket. He can bear my weight just fine.

Reaching over to the side table, I grab some coconut oil and rub it between my hands until the white semi-solid turns into a clear oil. I take a moment to appreciate the sight in front of me. His arms are bent with his hands burrowed under the pillow, his profile a mixture of curiosity and relaxation. The weight of my body on his has his eyebrow lifted in intrigue but the smell of my floral shampoo wafting off my pillow has his eyes drifting shut in long blinks. His back is on display in front of me, the ridges and valleys of his muscles creating a glorious landscape. One my mouth waters to explore.

My dirty thoughts are interrupted as a droplet of oil falls from my hands to his back. I press both my palms flat against the planes of his mid back, when I apply light pressure he groans. "This may hurt a little but it'll feel better in the long run."

"I don't know, Covey", he chuckles into the pillow. "You think those teeny hands are..." His words are interrupted, a groan tearing from deep in his throat as I push my hands up his large back. My entire body weight behind those _teeny hands._

The oil spread under my hands, making his olive skin shine in the low light of my bedroom. "You were saying?" I tease, the heel of my hand digging into the tight muscle covering his shoulder blade. He lets out another guttural groan at that, shaking his head and burying his face in my pillow. The animalistic sound vibrates through me and I have to consciously stop my legs from squeezing his hips.

My hands move along his tanned skin and I watch them. I watch them closely. Because if my eyes leave my hands I'm afraid it will be too much. The heat radiating from his solid body below me, his rippling muscles so sensitive to my touch, the deep groans coming from his perfect lips.

Peter Kavinsky stokes fires inside of belly that would make Hades jealous. I never thought that I would be so easily ruled by my hormones but here I am, trying my hardest not to grind on his butt. And it's a nice butt, a butt that lacrosse built. Like two small plump honeydews.

I can tell I'm doing a good job by the groans and moans he's trying to stifle into the pillow. My small but mighty hands move down his tapered back to the dimples right above his shorts. The muscle under his heated skin is tight and I feel the specific knot that is most likely giving him pain.

Sliding off his butt, I settle on the back of his thighs. His coarse leg hairs rub against my inner thighs and the friction makes the ache is my belly just that much more acute. "This where it hurts?" I ask, my thumb pressing against the warped muscle just above his left butt cheek. He looks back at me and nods, watching me as I rise onto my knees and put my entire body weight behind my fingertips as they press into the sore tissue.

A groan tears from his throat and he buries his face further into my pillow as I rub firm circles into his skin. There is a side of me that sees what I'm doing for Peter to be strictly clinical. I used to massage Margot's hamstring whenever she would get a charley horse after track, I appreciate the medical benefits of massage therapy. But there were flames licking at the back of my neck every time his body shifted under me, with every noise that came from him.

The more my fingers work, the more his body relaxes and I know that stubborn knot was the culprit. For a second, I'm so concentrated on trying to smooth out the twisted muscle that my brain doesn't even process my fist slipping under the waistband of his shorts. That is, until Peter's body stiffens under my touch and he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Normally, I would've asked if he was okay at his reaction but I am feeling bold tonight. And I know that I had to finish getting the knot out. Leaning over, I press my elbow into his tender flesh and apply a light pressure. The new angle gives me leverage but it also means that my chest his pressed against his delicious butt. I feel his cheeks clench and his hips roll against the bed.

Is this..._turning him on?_

The tension in his body seemed to transfer from the twisted muscles to the arousal that pumped through him. I scoot up so I'm planted on his butt again and he lets out a loud groan that sends a jolt between my legs. The effect I am having on him is obvious and it's making me giddy. I trail my fingertips along his wide back, the feather light touch a stark contrast to the firm pressure I was applying. It makes his thick muscle ripple underneath his heated skin. "Turn over", My voice sounds like my throat is made of gravel and I know he heard it as a request and not a demand.

"Just, uh", He clears his throat, his voice just as coarse as mine. "Give me a second." He's trying to keep his hips still but I can practically feel them trembling with restraint.

Pressing my hands flat against his back, I use the leverage to adjust myself. His face twists in the dim lighting of room and I know he can feel the heat radiating from between my legs against his backside. "Turn over, Peter." I demand, a little bit firmer now.

The air hangs thick in the room and my eyes are so heavy with desire that the bulbs from my string lights look like dozens of little orbs. Usually when we hang out there's movie on or we put on a good spotify playlist but the silence right now is deafening.

Taking a deep breath, his ribcage expands to almost double its size before exhaling fully. He shifts under me and I rise up on my knees to give him room to turn on his back. Once he settles on his back, his large hands find mine and he laces his fingers with mine. His hands practically engulf mine and they take some of the weight off of my knees. I look down between us at the few inches of air between our hips before looking back to his face.

What I see takes my breath away more than our current physical situation. His eyes, those golden hazel eyes, are shining up at me just radiating warmth. When I say shining, I mean _shining. _I know logically that it's the result of my nearby string lights but that doesn't stop the butterflies from going absolutely insane. I feel safe when he looks at me like that. I feel at home.

There is something about his presence that makes me feel brave and I do something that I know will cause the air in the room to shift. I lower myself so our lower bodies are flush against each other. Peter's reaction is visceral. He inhales sharply through his nostrils, his eyes fall shut, his jaw tightens. I'm honestly surprised I can even process his reaction when his hardness is pressing against between my legs.

The ache that was pulsing dull in the pit of my stomach has shot to the center of core like a lightning bolt. His hands let mine go and fall to cover my thighs, his thumbs caressing the inside crease of my bent knees. My eyes find his face and I find those gorgeous eyes again. He looking at me like I'm the most precious thing on the planet and I'm starting to think that maybe to him, I am.

My fingers ghost down the rippled muscles of his stomach and brace against the coarse hair just above the waistband of his shorts. "Lara Jean", he rasps. Contrary to popular belief, Peter Kavinsky is not stupid and I know he has anticipated my next move.

Since that night a three weeks ago, the night when we realized our feelings were no longer a charade, Peter has been very good about not pressuring me into doing anything that made me uncomfortable. The two other times he spent the night, I did end up with my pants off. Yes, Peter Kavinsky gave me my first orgasm, several actually. But both times when I went to reciprocate, he wouldn't let me. He wanted it, I could _see _he wanted it but he wanted to make sure I was ready.

I _am_ ready.

Using the leverage I have on his lower stomach, I move my hips against his and his hands move up to grip them. My mind wanders to the way his hands practically engulf my hips but my thoughts only linger there briefly before the pulsing between my legs takes over.

The air seems to go out of the room as I move my hips against his. My motions are choppy but his warm eyes watch each movement with rapt attention. I cover his hands with mine, my fingers sliding into the spaces between his. "Show me what you like", I hope it came like a demand but somehow I think it may have come out like a plea.

The tips of his nimble fingers dug into the flesh as he guided my movements. They were slow and measured at first as if he was trying to gauge just how much he could take. The feeling of his firmness between my legs ignited every inch of my skin.

Suddenly the feeling of clothes against my skin is almost too much to bear. My hands twist in the front of my sweater, pulling the fabric away from my overheated flesh. I realize that my eyes have been shut and when I open them I feel like I'm in sensory overload. Everything within sight is bright and vibrant despite the dim lighting in my room. And that includes Peter's face. I can practically count every freckle on his cheeks.

The heat spreading through my body is taking over practically every muscle. My hips are bearing down on his lap at their own accord and I can't quite process all the thoughts that are bombarding my mind. One second my heart is swelling watching the way he watches me then the next a jolt of electricity shoots directly between my legs every time his hardness brushes against my over stimulated clit. I know we're not ready for full on sex but damn, if this isn't the closest to ready that I've ever been.

One of Peter's hands slipped under my sweater and pressed his flat palm against my stomach, his large hands practically the same size as my entire navel. My stomach flutters and I can't tell if it's the butterflies reeking havoc in there or my abdominal muscles spasming due to my building orgasm. I grab the hem of my sweater and pull it over my head with a swiftness that even surprises me. His eyes widen and dilate simultaneously at the gesture and they fall to wear the ends of my braids land on my chest.

I don't have the biggest boobs but I know that my breathing and my fitted bralette are making it so they are on the verge of spilling from the cotton. Is this what having a guy wrapped around your finger is like? I don't know what this says about me but I feel like I have some sort of upper hand over Peter at the moment and the power high it's giving me is making my head buzz.

My teeth sink into the bottom lip as I sink my entire weight onto his lap, his breath catches in response and confidence is washing over me in waves. He takes my right hand between his, the comparison in size between mine and his is laughable. He dwarfs me is every aspect. His eyes meet mine and it's me who lets out a gasp when he presses my palm flush against his chest, over his racing heart.

Peter's skin is so heated that is feels as if the lines of my hand are being branded into his chest. That's a tattoo I would personally love, a piece of me forever over his heart. "You drive me crazy, baby." He rasps, it makes me want to give him all of me. Right now. I will never get used to him calling me 'baby'. _Never._

I can barely handle it anymore.

A hiss escapes his perfect lips as I dig my blunt nails into his hard pec muscle before straightening again in his lap. My eyes meet his and a storm of sexual tension brews between them. Reaching a hand behind me, I cup his hard, aching flesh and tremble ripples through his body. He gasps and his large hand squeezes the soft skin of my waist.

"Does that feel good?" I ask, my voice not even a whisper.

His hips lift off the bed, pressing against mine in a smooth wave before sinking back down against the mattress. "You have no idea." His voice was raw and the words faltered as they left his mouth. I wish I tasted those words, his slick lips moving against mine in a breathy sigh.

Lifting up a bit on my knees, I look back over my shoulder. The sight sends a jolt directly between my legs. The outline of his member straining against the cotton of his briefs was practically twice the length of my hand. My hand are especially small but _still._

Lust is clouding my mind and before I know it the words are leaving my mouth. "Can I see...?"

The question hangs heavy in the air for a second longer than makes me comfortable. My eyes shift to his face, his eyebrows knitted together and apprehension marring his handsome face. "You've seen mine", I tease and when I see no change in his expression, I continue. "I'll keep my pants on, I promise." I assured.

Many emotions play along the shadows of his face as he weighs me with his eyes. His chin lifts in the most minute of movements and I raise up on my knees as if he spoke to me telepathically. My excitement must light up my face because Peter shakes his head and lets out a tiny laugh that sounds more like a huff.

I watch as Peter lifts his hips off the bed and pushes his basketball shorts down his strong thighs. His motions are fluid, I am forever in awe of him. The sensations that run through me when his hard manhood springs from his shorts and stands at attention are indescribable. He's thick, so thick that I'm not sure I could wrap my hand around him completely, ribbed with veins and I swear I could _see_ him throbbing.

My mouth falls open as the swollen head brushes against the cotton at the center of my panties. I can feel his eyes on me, gauging my reaction. Watching me discover him for the first time is turning him on, I can tell by the way his belly is trembling with every breath he takes.

Bringing one of my hands between us, I trace the ridge along the head and I hear him hiss as the electricity sparks between our skin. Wonder plays on my face, I can't help it. I've never felt anything so hard yet so soft and smooth at the same time. A tangible oxymoron.

The more I touch him, the more it angles more towards his stomach. As much as I was fascinated at seeing a real penis for the first time in person I still couldn't ignore waves of pheromones radiating from Peter. Looking up at his face, I watched him as he watched my hand. His mouth was slack and his honey eyes had turned almost completely black.

It wasn't long before his eyes made their way up my body until they reached my face. His plump lips were pressed together making the small scar next to his mouth more prominent. God, I wanna lick that scar. By the way his eyes were practically swallowing me I know he doesn't want me to stop touching him.

But I have something else in mind.

Lowering my body back down to his, I trap his aching solid member between my hot center and his quivering stomach. His head falls back against the pillow as a low groan slips from his parted lips. It's an animalistic sound that makes me want to move against him but his firm hands on my hips prohibit that.

When I tell you I have never felt this kind of confidence in my life...

"You're killing me, Covey." He grinds out through gritted teeth, his hips shaking with faltering willpower. His mind and body warring an internal battle. All I want is for him to let go.

Bracing my hands against his lower stomach, my thighs squeeze the outside of his hips to get his attention. "I'm not made of glass."

Using my hands as leverage, I adjust in his lap and the friction between my cotton shorts and his ultra sensitive skin is stifling. Our eyes meet and I can practically see the scales tipping in my favor as his body wins over his mind. He sits up abruptly and I'm completely surrounded by him. His large hands covering the entire expanse of my back and his eager lips against mine.

Every single nerve in my body ignites simultaneously. Peter's stomach is pressed flush against mine and I never would've imagined it would feel this intimate. We've been this close before, when we hugged or slept. But something about our overheated bodies, breathing into each other as lust coursed through every vein. It is the closest thing to sex I've ever felt.

Hold that thought.

My hips are moving against him at their own accord, like some primal instinct that lay dormant until now. Like I was born to do this, with him. His one hand slides down my sweat slicked back to the swell of my ass, his large palm guiding my hips against mine. He groans into my mouth, the sound reverberating through my entire body. Now _this_ is the closest thing I've ever felt to sex.

Peter's late in the day stubble tickle my palms as I hold his face between my hands, my lips parting from his. My mouth lingers open over his, his hot breath filling my lungs. In this moment, I know on some level Peter and I will be connected for the rest of our lives because in this moment he is keeping me alive. His sweet exhale breathing life into me. His heavy lidded brown eyes are lazily searching my face, a contrast to the determined way his hips is rocking against mine.

There's a dampness spreading between us, wetting the crotch of my shorts. I'm not quite sure which one of us it's coming from to be honest. His hips rotate and I gasp against his mouth, my tongue flicking against his kiss swollen lips.

Letting his head fall back, my eyes are drawn to his exposed throat in front of me. The way the strong tendons stretch from his thick neck to his broad shoulders.

He is magnificent. Every detail of him has been perfected like a statue of a Greek god. I wonder if I will ever feel worthy of this perfect man in front of me.

Probably not.

My hands move from his face so my fingers can trace down the chords of his neck to press against the overheated skin of chest. Leaning forward, I press my open mouth against his throat and trail my tongue up the tanned skin there towards his ear. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding and he hisses and my warm breath ignites the trail left by my tongue.

His heart pounds under my palm as he raises his head back up, his bleary eyes struggling to focus on my face. "Does that feel good?" My voice is foreign to my own ears, rougher, but I know my insecurity creeps through.

"You have no idea", he groans, his heavy lidded eyes dropping to my lips and I can't help but sink my teeth into the swollen tissue there. A primal sound rumbles through his chest as his fingers slip under the fabric of my boy shorts. Up until this point my hips have been moving back and forth over him, letting him set the pace. But the feeling of his blunt fingertips dig into the flesh of my ass and the pressure building in the pit of my stomach peaks my curiosity.

I breathe his name and if Peter were less in tuned with me he might think it was just a spontaneous emission but he knows better. He brings his hand up to the side of my face and swipes his thumb along my bottom lip. "Is this okay?" He asks, his hips stilling under mine.

Letting out a breathy laugh against his lips, my mouth secures against his in a brief kiss. "More than okay", I reassure, my thighs squeezing the outside of his hips. There are a million thoughts racing through my brain that I'm finding it difficult to form a sentence. The feelings that are swelling inside me are borderline overwhelming. Lust mounts in my gut, adoration expanding through my chest at such a fast rate I find it hard to take a sufficient breath. I press my face to his, my lips whispering against his chiseled jaw in hopes that it'll help me gather my thoughts.

It doesn't.

Before I could stop it, the only complete thought in my head bubbles up my throat. "Can we have sex like this?" I blurt out and his whole body stiffen under me. Shaking my head in the slightest, I clear my throat realizing that I should definitely clarify that statement. "When we are ready to have sex."

Peter lets out what sounds like a soft relieved laugh, his hot breath engulfing the both of us. His eyes search my face as his lust clouded brain starts to feel the gravity of my statement. I can see by the way his eyes are dilating that he's envisioning it. My wet, tight body surrounding and squeezing his, our mouths moving and breathing against against each other. Not unlike they are now.

My arms are wrapped around his strong shoulders, my chest tight against his causing my cleavage to push up between us. Sitting on his lap like this, I have about an inch on Peter and he looking at me with those big eyes. Eyes so full of admiration and desire, I want to swim in those honey pools until my muscles give out.

His rugged voice breaks through my thoughts. "Are you saying you wanna ride me, Lara Jean?" His gorgeous lips lifting in a lopsided smirk, his voice just as mischievous as it is seductive. I can feel the flush making its way up my neck and warming my cheeks as I nod slowly, looking at him shyly from underneath my lashes.

"I just can't promise I'll be good at it." I mutter and a deep laugh reverberates through his chest. His hands grip my hips as his move under mine, if it's even possible he's harder than before.

Leaning forward, he presses his face against mine and his lips whisper along my cheekbone. "You're already amazing, trust me." He assured, his large hands moving up my sides. "Just do what makes you feel good."

Moving my hands up his neck to his face, my fingertips dancing along the sharp line of his jaw before I press my lips to his. He secures his muscular arm around my waist and I yelp lightly against his mouth as he scoots us back so his back is against my headboard. Once he settles, he runs a hand over my braided hair and I look down to where he's playing with the end of said braid. "Just do what makes you feel good." He repeats, his coarse voice sounding more like an instruction now than advise.

It's like a switch is flipped.

Here in my dimly lit bedroom, in the early hours of the morning, my body wins out over my mind for the first time in my life. My open mouth is against his and my hips start to roll against his lap in a fluid motion. A groan radiates from his chest and trembles through both of us. I guess what makes me feel good works for both of us.

Desire clouds my mind and it feels as if his hands are everywhere at the same time, his needy fingertips letting me know just how much he wants me. My hips have a mind of their own and stray from their monotonous back and forth motion, spurred on by the sounds emitting from his throat. They rotate, they rock, they bear down on his lap.

My head feels light and my lungs straining for sufficient breath, yet that doesn't stop me from trying consume every inch of Peter as if he is the only source of oxygen. It's all a blur of kisses, caresses, thrusts but there are moments that seem to almost happen in slow motion. And those are the moments when opens his eyes between kisses or lifts his face from my neck to just look at me, like really look at me.

Although his hips continued to lift off the bed in measured actions, his eyes drank me in. Normally, I might feel shy under his gaze but the way he is studying ever dip and curve of my face sends something surging within me. I let my head drop back against my shoulders and a soft moan escapes my elongated throat, his eyes never leaving me and hands firm against my thigh. This will be a memory he files away and visits often in the future.

I'm in Peter Kavinsky's spank bank.

Crass? Maybe. Empowering? Abso-fucking-lutely.

I shiver as his hands move up my back to my shoulder blades, urging me forward until his lips where gliding over my exposed collarbone. My hands thread through his thick locks, holding his face to my chest while my butt grinds into his lap. "No idea how bad I wanna mark this perfect skin, Covey", Peter confesses roughly, his tongue igniting a path along the edge of my bralette. "Let everyone know you're mine."

The territorial side of Peter stoke the flames deep in my belly. He's not the only one who wants the world to know who I belong to. "Do it", I approve, his lips stilling against my skin as my breathy words hang in the thick air.

"You sure?" he teases, his tongue tickling my skin as he spoke. My head is still facing skyward as I nod it enthusiastically, my small hands fisting in his luscious brown waves at the thought of his mouth assaulting my skin.

The feeling of his hot mouth attaching to the junction where my neck meets my shoulder practically sends me skyrocketing off his lap. The delicious suction of his searing mouth mixed with the way his teeth is scraping the sensitive flesh almost makes me black out. I groan his name, more loudly than I care to admit, and my hips match his in a rhythm that actually impresses me. One of his hands is braced on the mattress behind him allowing his hips to move in time with mine.

Our lower bodies move together like a couple in one of those dirty dancing movie, the coordination pretty impressive for clumsy ole Lara Jean. I gasp wantonly, a new angle causing his stiffness to line up perfectly between my legs and press against my most sensitive spot. A medley of carnal sounds are muffled against the skin of my neck and I know it feels just as good for him as it does for me.

His mouth releases my marked skin with a pop before his tongue soothes the splotch that I'm sure has formed. My hand falls to grip the back of his sweat slicked neck as I continue to gyrate my hips against his lap, chasing that fleeting feeling building deep in my stomach. His lips are whispering along my collarbone bone and the sensation of his hot breath puffing against my damp skin is spurring me on more than he realizes.

A gasp leaves my lips as his teeth scrape over my taut nipple thats straining against the fabric of my bralette. "You're gonna make me...", my voice quakes, a tremble rippling through my body. I'm still working on the dirty talk, some things don't happen overnight.

But Peter, he doesn't share my reservations. "Go ahead, baby, _come for me_." Normally, that nickname makes my stomach flutter but now those butterflies are the size of pterodactyls. If he's sending me over the edge, I'm taking him with me.

Arching my back, I reach behind me and cup his hardness in my soft palm. I roll his balls in my hand in time with the movements of my hips and the noises that tear from his throat are primal. One of his hands circles the back of my neck, his mouth capturing mine in a torrid kiss. I can tell from the urgency of his lips that he was about to hurdle over the edge with me.

Before I could complete the thought, my entire body seizes up on top of him. My thighs clamp against his hips as a searing spread across my body, igniting every inch of my skin. Peter is muttering something against my neck, but if I'm being honest I can't really make out what he's saying due to the high pitched ringing in my ear. You know the kind people get in movies after an explosion, that's what he does to me.

As the fog clouding my mind starts to dissipate just as he starts to fall apart underneath me. His body jerks under me and he grunts into my neck, his blunt fingertips digging into my overheated skin.

We stay like that for several minutes, wrapped around each other, my flushed cheek pressed against his damp shoulder. Our chests rise and fall together in such a steady rhythm that I start to feel myself doze off. I jolt awake as he I feel him shift below me.

"Sorry, I know you're comfy, babe, but I need to, uh, clean up." he rasps, his soft lips moving against my skin.

I lazily unwrap myself from around him and look down between us. He finished between us, coating both our stomachs and dripping down to the crotch of my panties. Is it wrong that I find him staining my underwear hot? I did that, I made him feel good.

Reaching over, he grabs his discarded shirt and wipes both of our abdomens. I know some people may find this disgusting but watching him makes my heart soar. The way one hand is bracing against my abdomen while the other gently and diligently washes me. The contrast between the hard, strong Peter and the soft, sweet Peter always has me in awe.

He carefully folds his shirt before dropping it on the ground and looks up to find me watching him with keen eyes, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. "What?" he asks, his soft but laced with lingering lust.

With a shy shake of my head, I look away, wishing that my hair wasn't in braids so it would curtain my face the way it always has. With a light chuckle, he wraps and arm around my waist and flips me over so I'm on my back on the bed next to him. He moves to the edge of the bed to slip on his basketball shorts and smirks back at me when he feels my nails trailing along muscular lines of his back.

I can't help myself, okay?

When he settles back on my plush bedding and pillows, he grabs my wrist and pulls me into his side. "Is that what sex is like?" I ask after a moment, a mild blush flooding my cheeks as I focus on where my fingers are tracing patterns on his bare skin. I don't exaggerate my innocence like some girls, in fact, I try to down play it but right now it's flashing like a huge neon sign. VIRGIN.

A small chuckle rumbles through his chest and reverberates against my cheek as one of his hands traces the edge of the my underwear along my lower back. "Honestly", he croaks, his voice is rough and he clears it before continuing. "That was better than any sex I've ever had."

The words hang in the thick air as my tired, satiated brain struggles to process them. _Better _than sex? Better than sex with _Gen_? Any residual insecurity that I felt about Gen and Peter's past relationship seems to evaporate in this moment. "Really?" I ask, trying not to let the excitement shine through in my voice.

"When the time", he halts, correcting himself. "If the time comes when we have sex, you're gonna destroy me, Covey."

A couple of weeks ago, I may have found the thought of little Lara Jean, barely 120 pounds, destroying lacrosse king Peter Kavinsky as absolutely ridiculous. But seeing how his entire body surrenders under the touch of my lips, I could believe it. If there was any doubt previously that Peter would be on the one to take my virginity, it has since disappeared.

Looking up at him, I reach up and kiss the corner of his mouth. "When." I reassure and the smile that spreads across his perfect lips makes my heart ache.

Reaching across me, Peter pulls the plush duvet across our bodies as I entangle my legs with his. I focus of the steady thud on his heart under my ear and soon, the rhythmic beating and the sweet smell of his sweat mixed with his soap lull me into the most peaceful sleep.

***fans self* Hope you love it as much as I did writing it! I've worked for weeks on this, would love to hear your thoughts in a review :)**


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